


Unexpected Heat

by ben_jaded



Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: Alpha T'Challa (Marvel), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bathing/Washing, Explicit Sexual Content, Hand Feeding, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Erik, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Scent Marking, Translation Available, 中文翻译 | Translation in Chinese
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 15:18:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18759052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ben_jaded/pseuds/ben_jaded
Summary: Erik is in Wakanda for less than a day when the unluckiest thing happens. He goes into heat.





	Unexpected Heat

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [人算不如天算](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14348757) by [annebaby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/annebaby/pseuds/annebaby). 



> So I'm reposting this fic as it was written originally. Thanks to the lovely readers who reached out to me on twitter and on tumblr. It means a lot to me that you liked my fic enough to ask that I repost it.
> 
> I originally took this fic down because I wasn't happy with it and planned on rewriting it. 30k into the rewrite, and I've realized it's two completely different stories. Hopefully, I'll be done and ready to post something before the year is over. 
> 
> Thanks again to my original main betas for this fic: Gen, Rei, and Daan. Y'all motivated me to start writing the fics I wanted to see instead of waiting for someone to write it.

## Part I

Erik is in Wakanda for less than a day when the unluckiest thing happens. He goes into heat.

He hasn't felt these symptoms for years, but every omega knows when they're about to go into heat. It's instinctive; the urge to nest, to seek out shelter, to demand comfort and affection from nearby alphas. It grates.

He starts to notice something is wrong after two Dora Milaje escort him to the King's Apartments.

The King's Bedchamber is an exercise in opulence. He whistles in appreciation at the sheer massiveness of the room. He could probably fit every shithole apartment he's ever lived in into this room. He can feel his anger rising at the thought. These damn pampered bastards. They knew nothing of poverty, knew nothing of what it felt like to not know where your next meal was coming from, to be willing to do anything to keep a roof over your head.

"You can leave now," he says to the warrior standing guard by the door, voice rough with anger. He sneers as she stiffens, watches her leave after giving him a stiff nod. He's the King now; they'd all have to get used to it.

Once he's sure she's left, he quickly scans the room. It's spacious and decorated in golds and purples, the decor tasteful and understated, leaning more toward minimalism, though there's still that lived in feeling. As he walks around the room, he analyzes every detail - from the clothes carelessly thrown over a chair, to the massive floor to ceiling window that he's sure holds an excellent view of the city skyline.

His eyes keep gravitating towards the large bed taking up much of the space, finds himself moving towards it, drawn in by the scent coming off it.

There are just some things Erik cannot deny about his omega nature, no matter how hard he tries, and scenting is one of them. Once he's focused on it, he freezes. The room smells just like his cousin. He’d gotten a quick whiff of T'Challa’s deliciously potent scent during their first meeting. T'Challa's scent had been powerful and clean, a mix of spice and citrus with a hint of lavender. He wants to drown in it forever, rub himself against it until it's all he can smell.

In the end, Erik gives in, unable to deny instinct. He quickly undresses and stands by the bed. He runs a hand against the sheets, hums softly to himself at the feel of silk under his fingertips. Fuck, he can't believe he's about to do this.

He gets under the sheets and stretches, feels the coolness of the slippery fabric caress his entire body. His cock hardens under the cool touch. Erik chokes back a moan, ashamed of his arousal. But not enough to stop what he was doing.

He inhales deeply, let's his senses luxuriate in the intoxicating scent of his cousin. Before he knows it, he's grabbed hold of his aching cock, fist tight at the base. It's already leaking pre-come. He lazily thumbs the head, turns his face and rubs his cheek against a pillow.

He takes a quick whiff of the fabric before his hand starts moving. He starts off slow, immersing himself in the scent surrounding him, in the feel of the sheets sliding against his scarred skin. He quickly finds a rhythm, pictures T'Challa as he’d first seen him, an alpha seating on his throne, holding court. He remembers the feel of his hands being cuffed, his heart pounding as the other man had approached him, eyes cold and flinty. He fondles his balls, speeds up the motion of his hand, thinks of how close the alpha had been, his scent engulfing Erik as he’d threatened to kill him. He thinks of how close he’d been to falling to his knees, to burying his face against his cousin’s crotch and mouthing at his cock. He’d wanted so badly to get at the source of that intoxicating scent, had felt the saliva pool in his mouth. What would it have been like, to nuzzle at that cock, take it in his mouth and swallow it whole?

Erik grunts, hand tightening on his cock, back arching, shudders as he feels the rush of orgasm thrumming through his body. In that moment, he wishes he hadn’t tossed his cousin off the waterfall, had kept him alive.

Erik is sprawled out panting on the bed, eyes half closed, come splattered all over his torso when he feels it. A trickle of slick escaping his ass.

His entire body freezes at the foreign sensation of slick running down his thigh. He thinks he must be hallucinating, brings a tentative hand to his buttocks. His hand comes away wet. Dread settles heavily in his stomach, taking away his post-orgasmic high.

He brings his hand close to his face, rubs his fingers together. It doesn’t feel like semen. He gives his fingers a sniff, doesn’t smell like it either. He licks hesitantly at his fingers, knows the taste of his own come intimately. It tastes sickly sweet; it tastes like an omega’s slick. And that -that’s  _impossible_. He couldn’t be producing slick. No way in fucking hell.

Erik rolls over, catches himself on his hands and knees, palms splayed out. Panic bubbles up from deep within his core, spreads through his chest, cold and toxic.

\---

At first, he thinks it's a side effect of ingesting the heart-shaped herb. It's a foreign plant infused with vibranium that had caused him to hallucinate a conversation with his dead father. The plant must be fucking with his biology. Or the shamans had poisoned him.

He orders the head priestess be brought to him. The woman is shaking by the time she enters the throne room. He wastes no time in questioning her. "What did you do to me?"

He watches as she starts to tremble harder, her eyes scanning him from head to toe. "N-nothing, my King. We just administered the heart-shaped herb."

He's up before he knows it, marching toward her, fury written in every line of his body. "Don't lie to me!" he roars, his temper flaring, "I ain’t playin' with you. Y'all did something to me."

She shakes her head in denial. “No, my King. We-”

Erik stifles the urge to strangle her, takes another menacing step toward her and watches as fear blankets her features. In that instant, he wanted nothing more than to lash out. To hurt her, make her feel even an ounce of the pain he’d suffer if what he suspected was true, that his body is undergoing changes for an impending heat— "If you think I'm that easy to kill, you're sorely mistaken." He isn't a fan of abusing a hapless old beta female, he thought he’d already gotten his point across when he’d ordered these fucking plants be burned to a crisp. "Now tell me what you did."

The priestess violently jerks away from him. "We did nothing, Your Highness. We administered the herb as per the ritual."

By now he can tell she's telling the truth. If it isn't poisoning then what is it? He can't shake the feeling of wrongness; he feels as if his skin is too tight, as if something is moving underneath his skin, trying to take him over. Was this a usual side effect? Fuck that purple magic plant.

"Your Highness," Erik is drawn out of his thoughts by the low whisper. It’s the priestess he’d almost choked. She no longer looks scared, her face set in a mask of determination. "Can you tell me what side effects that you’re experiencing so we may better serve you?"

Erik’s eyes narrow, suspicious of her change of heart. He has two choices; he can either accept her offer or reject it and see what happens. He goes over his knowledge of the plant, it's scarce and not enough to risk rejecting wisdom freely offered.

Erik calmly invites her to take a seat, his gaze drawn to the bruises purpling her throat. He doesn't regret it, what he’d done when he’d awakened from his journey into the ancestral plane.

Now that the moment of violence has passed, he’s feeling much calmer and in control. His hormones are out of whack, making him more emotional, more prone to lashing out. If she can tell him what’s wrong, he can cook up a plan to fix it. He has plans to put in motion and what he suspects is happening to his body will only get in the way of that. He’s just usurped a throne, being incapacitated in any form is unacceptable.

Erik clears his throat and frowns as he says, “I think I’m going into heat.”

His statement is met with a relieved sigh. He watches as the priestess’s shoulders lose tension and she visibly relaxes.

“The heart-shaped herb is incompatible with any form of suppressant, my King.”

Erik feels his heart stop cold. Fuck. Of course it is.

He can feel a headache mounting. He tries hard not to take his frustration out on her again. “What do you mean it’s incompatible?”

“Just that, Your Highness.” She imparts, shrugging her shoulders, completely unaware of how close Erik comes to strangling her again. “To be the Black Panther is to be completely unaltered by man-made concoctions. The goddess Bast gifts all Black Panthers with enhanced strength, speed, durability, healing, reflexes and acute senses. The herb destroys any foreign chemicals not native to the body.”

“So no suppressants?” he asks, wanting to be sure, feeling like the world was closing in on him. “Ain’t Wakanda too advanced for this shit?”

“It is one of the sacrifices all who take on the mantle must make.”

Fuck! He’s been royally screwed by a fucking purple plant. What the fuck is his life.

\---

Erik arranges to see a doctor.

She works fast when faced with his impatience. It’s the quickest physical he’s ever had.

“You’re only in the beginning stages of heat,” she informs him, sorting through a bunch of screens to pull up a scan.

She eyes him curiously as she says, “It would be best if you had a partner for this. From what you’ve told me and what these results are showing, it’s going to be a long and painful heat. Your body has accumulated years’ worth of hormones, and the herb is still fighting off any lasting effect. I would say we’re looking at a timeline of a week of downtime, longer without an alpha’s sperm to provide the necessary hormones your body is craving.”

Erik resists the urge to bang his head against the nearest hard surface. Maybe he could knock himself into a coma and wake up after the heat's done its thing? He'd rather not be awake as his body's being ravaged by heat, mindless with fever, begging to be filled by anything, crying for an alpha to claim him, breed him.

But of course, it would be like this. Life's never been easy on him. Right when all his dreams are about to come to fruition, his body decides to betray him.

Fuck his biology. He has plans.

“How long do I have, doc?” he asks, eyes narrowed as determination fills him.

\---

Erik is standing next to W’Kabi, watching as ships loaded with weapons take to the air. He’s wearing one of T’Challa’s robes, half for comfort - his body’s temperature has slowly risen over the course of the day and wearing anything restrictive irritated the hell out of him. He’d tried to wear a simple linen shirt, but the feel of the fabric rubbing against his overly sensitive nipples had been too distracting.

He’d also taken to wearing T’Challa’s clothes due to the lingering scent. More than once he’s used T’Challa’s leftover clothing as jerk off material; all he’d needed to do was inhale deeply and his vision would blur with the sheer force of the arousal sweeping through him. Fuck, why did his dead cousin have to smell so perfect?

W’Kabi hadn’t even batted an eye at Erik’s change of scent. The beta had only paused slightly, taking in the new smell of his King and had proceeded to go over their plans of arming War Dogs one more time.

The symptoms are mild enough that Erik can deal with them. Aching joints, increased sensitivity, rising core temperature, the urge to nest, to seek comfort; all of it is manageable with his goals so close to being fulfilled. He's waited his entire life for this, and nothing's going to stop him from seeing this through.

Today's a new beginning, the start of his empire. If he has to burn the world down and rebuild a new one from its ashes, so be it.

\---

So of course, that’s when his supposedly dead cousin shows up back from the grave.

Can this day get any worse?

\---

They fight and he doesn’t die.

Something worse happens.

He goes into heat.

## Part II

T’Challa’s body slams into his, sending them tumbling into the mines below. They fight, exchange vicious kicks and punishing punches, neither holding back the strength of their blows. They only separate at the sound of an oncoming train.

Their masks dematerialize and all Erik can smell is  _alpha_. He’s completely unprepared. The smell is strong enough to blindside him for a few seconds. Every muscle in his body goes tense all at once. His body turns toward the direction the scent is coming from, all his senses narrowing in on the other man. T'Challa’s pheromones saturate the air. And Erik, he can’t resist the scent of a strong, virile alpha being so close.

Erik feels his cock twitch, feels the accompanying gush of slick. It’s instinct telling his body to get ready to be bred. He squeezes his eyes shut, stops breathing through his nose, tries to shake off the fog of lust. It doesn’t matter. None of it does. He would rather die than be bred. Still, he can feel T’Challa’s eyes on him, the intensity unnerving, sending a shiver racing up his spine.

Erik begins to pace back and forth like a caged animal. He tries hard not to let his attention wander to his cousin and his deliciously taunting scent, tries to focus his senses on the humming of the sonic stabilizers as they wait for the train to pass. But he’s distracted by the panther habit melting off his body in random patterns, exposing his heated skin to the cooling air of the vibranium mine.

“N’Jadaka,” T’Challa says, voice soothing and calm, “It doesn't have to be like this.”

“Nah, it does, cuz,” he answers, beyond aggravated at how good it feels to hear his name come out of T’Challa's mouth.

“You would destroy the world. Wakanda included,” T’Challa responds back furiously.

Rage flares hot in his chest, Erik feels his claws unsheath. “So what if I do?” He snarls viciously. “The world took everything from me!” It doesn’t matter what his body wants, Erik just wants to tear his cousin apart. Take everything away from him like he'd been robbed.

Erik has only known a world that takes. He's grown up motherless, his father murdered, and tossed between foster homes until he'd aged out of the system. Presenting as an omega on top of all that had been the final nail in the coffin. But he’s risen above, made something of himself, has fought tooth and nail to get to this place.

He isn’t about to let his biology dictate his life choices.

T’Challa dies today.

Erik lets out a roar of pure rage, barely waiting for the train to finish passing before launching himself at T’Challa once again.

The fighting takes on a more vicious turn. They exchange a flurry of punches and kicks, each hit more brutal than the last. T’Challa is a good fighter, Erik would give him that. For every hit Erik lands, the alpha lands two more. As they fight, he can feel his body tiring, exhaustion settling in, the adrenaline that has been fueling him thus far finally ebbing away. The symptoms of the heat, become more evident. He continues to fight, his hits getting sloppy, some barely landing.

He vaguely understands what’s happening, that this isn’t just a physical reaction, that it’s his biology at work, that being this close to T’Challa has thrown his body into overdrive, his omega physiology is being triggered by the scent of a potentially compatible alpha. Everything about T’Challa screams that he would be a good potential mate. His body recognizes their compatibility and Erik’s hindbrain will not let him ignore it.

Erik viciously head-butts T’Challa, making the other man stagger back slightly. The action leaves him disoriented, sending Erik off balance.

He feels hands grab at his shoulders, feels a foot being driven into the back of his right knee, feels his body being jerked back into a solid chest. T’Challa swings his right arm forward, forearm tight around his throat. Erik feels a moment of dizziness as T’Challa presses against his windpipe, cutting off circulation, feels his knees lowering to the rocky ground. The hold is inescapable, one wrong move and he would either pass out or be strangled.

The sonic stabilizers activate. Erik finds himself choking on a mouthful of that delicious scent. God, the smell. Those alpha pheromones are even worse up close. His head is resting against the other man’s naked torso. T’Challa makes quick work of relieving him of the necklace holding the panther habit. Erik shivers at the feel of cool air meeting his naked body.

Of course, his twice damned body chooses to betray him right then. He lets out a pained groan, his stomach feeling like it’s being turned inside out. He almost doubles over from the pain. He feels T’Challa loosen the tight hold he has on Erik’s throat. He pants heavily, leaning back against T’Challa’s body.

He’s finally in full blown heat, feels like he’s on fire, the blood coursing through his veins boiling him from within. The sweet smell of fertile omega and slick permeates the air. The scent is so thick, he feels like he's drowning in it; he can hardly breathe. Any doubts he’s had about making it through this heat alone disappears at the throbbing pain spiking through him.

He can tell the exact moment that T’Challa picks up his scent. There’s an explosion of alpha pheromones, an almost feral growl escapes from the alpha’s mouth.

Erik finds himself keening in response, feeling arousal so fierce it borders on pain, searing away all rational thought. His hips start thrusting on their own volition, his hard cock weeping pre-come all over his abdomen. There’s slickness trickling down his thighs, the trail growing larger with every inhale.

Erik hates every second of it. This betrayal, this thing his body does.

T’Challa roughly pulls him up and takes a deep breath through his nose, pointedly inhaling Erik’s scent. “You’re going into heat,” he says huskily, his large hands bruisingly tight on Erik’s shoulders.

A whine, needy and rough escapes him at the gruffness of T’Challa’s voice. Erik looks at him through hooded eyes, speech near slurring as he responds, “no shit. You jus’ now noticin’ it, cuz.”

“N’Jadaka,” T’Challa groans, voice rough with desire. His hand, still encased in the panther habit, cups Erik’s face. He runs his thumb across Erik’s bottom lip, leans in so close that Erik can feel his hot breath on his parted lips.

Erik’s breath hitches when that thumb presses in further, feels it run across his teeth. He opens his mouth, wraps his tongue around the invading digit, starts to suck.

Erik blinks dazedly, finally making eye contact. His omega instinct tells him to look down, to submit, but he finds he can’t stop staring. T’Challa’s features are unreadable, his irises ringed with gold as he watches Erik greedily suck and lick his thumb. Erik suckles greedily as T’Challa’s irises turn from a warm brown to burnished gold. It’s a sign that he is giving in to his alpha nature, letting instinct take over; he's as affected by this as Erik is.

Erik finds himself sucking harder on the thumb in his mouth, twirls his tongue around it, likes the feel of vibranium against his tongue. The longer he holds the alpha’s gaze, the more aroused he becomes. He watches in fascination as T’Challa’s eyes continue to change, dark pupils almost eclipse the gold that has invaded his dark brown irises.

Through the haze of arousal, Erik realizes T’Challa’s honorable enough to offer to help ease his suffering. As much as he wants to refuse - the thought of being mounted like a bitch in heat, of being knotted is both terrifying and humiliating - his options are few and far between. His body is too weak to continue this fight, his mind is slowly being overtaken. He thinks back to his first heat, of how he'd nearly died from starvation and dehydration. He hates the thought of belonging to any alpha, of letting anyone claim his body as theirs, of losing control and ceding to his biology. But Erik wants to live through this, wants to live to fight another day.

When T’Challa removes his thumb, Erik can’t hold himself back anymore. Instinct takes over. He surges forward, their lips collide in a brutally messy kiss, all teeth and tongue, clashing and fighting for purchase.

Erik whines low in his throat, his body already begging to be filled. T’Challa answers with a rumbling growl, teeth biting hard against Erik’s bottom lip as he pushes them both backward.

His back hits one of the sonic stabilizers. Erik gasps at the feeling of cold metal against his heated skin. His legs slip open, T’Challa settles himself between them, plastering against Erik’s naked body, hands wrapping around his waist, holding him in place.

Erik is burning all over, everywhere they touch lights up, the flow of his slick no longer bothering him as he becomes more and more one-track minded.

T’Challa kisses him until he’s breathless, then moves down his jaw towards his throat. Erik tilts his head back, baring his neck, lets out a moan when T’Challa bites down lightly at the juncture between his neck and shoulder. The feeling of a strong, firm body pressed along the length of his own and teeth scraping against his mating gland, has a fresh wave of slick slowly leaking out of his hole. He can feel it running down the backs of his legs.

“N'Jadaka,” T’Challa whispers hot against his ear, grip tightening painfully on Erik’s hips, “let me take care of you.”

Erik longs to feel the solid, warmth of T'Challa's skin against his. He wants to cover the alpha in his slick and come, wants all of Wakanda to know that this alpha was his. Let them see that their precious King is helpless to a tight omega hole. Wants to ruin him. Wants to be the only omega T'Challa fucks for the rest of his life. He flushes hot with shame, hates that this is what the heat has reduced him to.

“Need you,” Erik whimpers helplessly in reply, clinging on to T’Challa’s shoulders, rubbing his hard cock against T’Challa’s still clothed abdomen, leaving a hot wet streak of pre-come. The shining slick of it coating the vibranium nanites. The vibranium weave of the panther habit feels cool against his fevered skin; the need for friction - any kind of relief - dominates his thoughts.

He forgets that there’s a war being fought above them, that he hates his cousin and wants him dead. His focus narrows, all his senses wrap around the scent of the alpha in front of him. All he knows is that he _aches_ , needs this hunger sated, needs T’Challa to fuck him senseless.

Erik begins to furiously claw at the Black Panther habit keeping T'Challa's body from his. As the nanites crawl back into the teeth of the necklace, he trails greedy hands over every inch of exposed skin. He places a hand flat against T’Challa’s heart, feels the heartbeat raging beneath his palm.

T’Challa stills under the touch, watches him with such intensity Erik feels it down to his core.

_‘This is mine,’_  he thinks, trailing a possessive hand down the smooth skin of T’Challa’s torso. He’s fascinated by the coldness of T’Challa’s skin, loves the way the muscles contract under his touch.

_‘I deserve this.’_  He thinks, running fingers through the wiry curls surrounding T’Challa’s cock, wraps fingers around the thick girth. T’Challa groans, bucks his hips into the touch.  _‘This should have always been mine.’_

The thought scares him. He thinks of all the what ifs. Would T’Challa have been his if he’d grown up in Wakanda? Would he still loathe the idea of being an omega? In the end, the what ifs don’t matter. He’d grown up in America where being an omega means you’re treated like a second-class citizen, where you’re seen as an extension of your alpha with no will of your own. Where he’d spent his presentation heat hiding in an abandoned building, terrified of being discovered, of being raped, delirious with heat. He'd cried then, longing for his sire, for the comfort and safety of pack as excruciating pain raced through his body. He had never wanted to feel that weak again. Yet here he is, in the throes of heat needing to get fucked or face unbearable pain for who knows how long.

"Gimme this fucking cock," he grits out, hating the truth of it. "I need it."

T'Challa moves then, presses his cock against Erik's scar ridden stomach. Erik moans, nearly euphoric at the feeling of their skin finally touching, of T’Challa’s beautiful cock rubbing pre-come all over his skin. He undulates his hips, seeking friction. He grunts when one of those long fingers brushes against his slick hole.

“I’m going to take such good care of you, N’Jadaka.” T’Challa says with gruff earnestness, kneading Erik’s ass.

Erik feels his eyes prickle with treacherous tears. In that moment he hates, hates himself so deeply for being so weak.  _‘Fuck,’_  he thinks, blinking furiously, tries to stem their flow. A heart to heart is the last thing he needs right now.

T'Challa grips him tighter, golden eyes staring at him with sincerity. He wants to drown in that gaze, knows the warmth he sees there is real. T’Challa fucking  _cares_.

"I don't think anyone has in quite some time,” the alpha gently continues, “N’Jadaka, I  _am_  going to take care you."

He’s so fucking  _stupid_. He believes T'Challa.

"Okay, man. You -" His voice breaks as T'Challa hangs onto his every word,  _listens_  to him. He feels so vulnerable under that intense gaze. "You better fucking do, man. Or I'll-"

"It is okay," T'Challa says, brushing his hand over the scars on Erik's flank, sets his other hand beneath Erik's ass. "Leave it up to me."

He easily lifts Erik up, like he weighs nothing. Erik sets his thighs around T’Challa’s shoulders, leans back against the sonic stabilizer for added support.

He lets out a strangled moan at the feel of T’Challa’s hot tongue licking over his hole and up the cleft of his ass, heels digging into the alpha’s shoulders.

T’Challa’s hands spread his cheeks, laps up his slick, makes the most shamelessly lewd sounds Erik’s ever heard.

“Oh fuck,” Erik exclaims, his head falling back, cracking against the sonic stabilizer.

T’Challa growls low in his throat. “You taste so…” The alpha doesn’t finish his sentence.

Erik lets out a moan when T’Challa’s tongue breaches his hole. One of his hands winds around the sonic stabilizer behind him, the other grasps T’Challa’s head, grinding his ass against that searching tongue. Erik wants it in deeper, faster, harder,  _anything_. He’s so pathetically desperate for more. “That’s it,” he growls lustfully, “just like that. Make me come, alpha.”

One of T’Challa’s hands reaches up, grips Erik’s cock in a tight hold, giving it quick, short strokes that brings Erik to the edge in mere seconds. “Oh,  _fuck_ , oh fuck!”

Erik pants heavily, loose-limbed from the orgasm. He hardly feels T’Challa lowering him from his perch on his shoulders.

The breath is stolen from his lungs at how feral the alpha looks, his face covered in slick. He licks his lips hungrily. Holding Erik’s gaze, he brings his hand to his mouth and sucks his fingers clean.

Holy shit. His cousin is a freak.

T’Challa lightly presses his lips against Erik’s, hands making their way back to Erik’s hips. He licks his way into Erik’s mouth. Their tongues meet and tangle. Erik moans at the taste of his slick.

T’Challa fucks his mouth, tongue battling his until he has Erik rutting against one of his muscled thighs.

Erik can hardly think over the sound of blood rushing loudly in his ears.

They separate, gasping for air. T’Challa’s hands move from his hips, and Erik can’t help but return to rutting against the crease of his thigh. The alpha runs his hands up Erik’s side, fingers gently exploring his scars as they exchange sloppy kisses. The sensation sends a shiver up Erik’s spine.

When T’Challa’s hands finally reach his nipples, the alpha rolls them between his thumbs and forefingers, tweaks them hard. Erik whimpers into his mouth, comes once again.

Erik hisses as another wave of heat wracks his body, a flood of slick gushing out of him. Fuck. He needs to be filled, needs the alpha to stop being a fucking tease and claim him already.

T’Challa growls at the fresh wave of pheromones hitting the air.

It seems to work. Erik has hardly caught his breath before T’Challa has one of his legs wrapped around his waist, warm fingers rubbing over his hole, slicking themselves up before pressing into him.

“Is this what you want?” T’Challa asks huskily, pressing a fingertip against Erik’s soaking rim.

“Yes,” Erik gasps, muscles clenching greedily around T’Challa’s finger, feeling relieved at finally having something inside of him. T’Challa adds a second finger, and Erik sinks down on it. He wants something, something bigger, to ease the desperate ache inside of him.

T’Challa grabs Erik’s cock and starts stroking, adding a third finger, scissoring them inside of Erik’s greedy hole. He keeps his pace steady, slow and gentle as Erik stretches around his fingers.

Erik feels overwhelmed, shoves himself into each motion of those long fingers. “ ’m good, T,” Erik growls as the alpha continues his needless teasing. He’s been ready to get fucked since he’d first scented that potent alpha pheromone back during their first meeting. “Fuck me now.”

T’Challa laughs throatily, increasing the speed of his strokes before pressing his body flush against Erik’s. “So greedy,” he whispers into Erik’s ear, nipping the earlobe.

His gaze flitters over T’Challa's face, hungry and desperate. Frustration bubbles beneath his skin, Erik lets out an angry growl. “Stop fucking around and  _fuck_  me.”

“I’ll give you what you need,” T’Challa murmurs, placing a gentle kiss on Erik’s cheek, thumb caressing the head of Erik’s cock, “don’t worry.”

He gives Erik’s cock one last stroke before positioning Erik’s body so that he’s facing the sonic stabilizer. It’s covered with slick. T’Challa places his hands so that Erik is gripping it tightly.

“I will make this good for you,” he states, voice full of promise. He scrapes his teeth against Erik’s nape, one hand pushing between his shoulder blades.

Erik's body thrums with desire, he feels like he’s about to vibrate right out of his skin. He leans forward, cants his ass back. He spreads his legs as wide as they’ll go, his hole exposed and slick, and so desperately needy.

Erik feels it then, the blunt head of T’Challa’s cock at his entrance. He gasps, dragging in air in long ragged breaths as it slips into the heat-slicked hole.

“You’re so tight and wet.” T’Challa breathes against his neck, hot and heavy against his overheated skin.

“Fuck,” Erik groans at the feel of T’Challa’s cock pushing past the tight ring of muscle. He clenches around T'Challa's cock as it penetrates him inch by slow inch. His hole burns pleasantly as he's stretched around T'Challa's fat cock.

"Fuck," he grunts, back arching as T’Challa’s cock slides in deeper, "I ain't ever had something this thick before. Ease up a little bit."

T'Challa wraps a hand around Erik's cock. His hole flutters around the warmth inside as another orgasm pulses through him. Slick gushes around T'Challa's thick cock as it sinks to the hilt inside him. When the alpha bottoms out, they both let out a guttural moan. The feeling’s overwhelming, but oh so fucking perfect. He can feel coarse hair brushing against the cheeks of his ass. Erik moans at the fullness. This is all he's wanted.

"You are taking me so well," T’Challa gruffly states against his ear, giving him a moment to get used to his size.

"Fuck," Erik squirms as he adjusts to the hot weight of T'Challa inside him. "Fuck. You gonna ruin my ass, 'Challa."

T'Challa kisses his nape as Erik leans back onto his chest. "You are doing so well." Erik whines as T'Challa rolls his hips, opening Erik up to deeper thrusts. He flushes as T'Challa mouths at his mating gland, more slick slips out around T'Challa's cock and down his strong thighs. "Thank you N'Jadaka." He slides a hand down one of Erik’s thighs, grips under his knee and hoists his leg up, spreading the omega’s legs before rolling his hips slowly, pulling almost completely out then slams right back in.

T’Challa sets a punishingly bruising pace, his hips pumping harshly. A wet squelching sound fills the mine with each brutal snap of T’Challa’s hips.

It leaves Erik feeling breathless, as if every stroke is punching the air out of his lungs. He never wants it to end. It’s everything that he’s craved. He wants more. “Harder,” he commands hoarsely. "Fuck me like you mean it."

T’Challa buries his face against his neck, sucking biting kisses into the skin. He changes positions, draws Erik against his chest. His arm tightens across Erik's chest, the other at Erik's hip pressing him back firmly against his rolling hips.

T’Challa gets rougher, picks up the pace. Erik arches his back, finds himself pushing back to meet the pounding thrusts.

“Oh fuck,” Erik gasps, baring his throat, body quivering as T’Challa's cock finds his prostate. He can feel it building, feel his balls start to draw up, feel the pressure in his stomach and the unbearable throbbing in his cock, all of it screaming for release. “Need to come.”

“Mine,” T’Challa growls, nipping at Erik's throat, rumbling possessively.

“ ‘Challa,” Erik keens, head turning to share an open-mouthed kiss with the alpha. He can feel the swelling at the base of T’Challa’s cock grow larger.

And he needs. Needs to feel the burning rush of T’Challa’s come deep inside him, his knot tying them together. Needs all that come inside him.

He works his hips in time with T’Challa’s thrusts, pants as the alpha’s knot catches at his hole with every thrust. “Knot me,” he struggles to speak through the jarring thrusts, “want you to fill me up.”

T’Challa growls in response, increasing the pace of his strokes. He pounds into Erik’s willing body with hard thrusts, there’s an urgency to his movements that says he’s close to coming. He takes Erik’s cock in hand and starts to jerk him at the same pace as his thrusts.

Erik takes it all, loves the feel of each jarring thrust, loves the feel of T’Challa’s arms tight around his body.

T’Challa thrusts in hard, his knot swelling to completion.

The knot stretches him so wide and open, Erik feels stuffed. His tight hole spasmed around it, milking T’Challa of everything he has. The feeling of a thick cock and a fat knot buried inside of him is beyond anything he could have imagined. He squirms against it, T’Challa hisses in response, his hold on Erik’s chest tightening. The movement presses the knot firmly against his prostate. He shatters.

Erik cries out as his orgasm rips through him, mouth open in the agony of release, thick ropes of come splattering all over his stomach and chest.

He slumps in T’Challa’s hold, body finally giving out, feels his vision fading.

## Interlude I

Exhaustion hit him like a freight train. He had been too far into a mating frenzy to realize just how tired he was. The fight with his cousin had been brutal, neither of them had held back and he was now feeling the after effects. Even as the heart-shaped herb worked hard at repairing the damage, now that the adrenalin rush was gone, he was feeling all the aches and pains.

He was still tied to N’Jadaka, his knot locking them together as his seed spilled inside that tight warmth. He pulled N’Jadaka closer to him, letting the omega use one arm as a headrest while the other moved continuously over N’Jadaka’s body, exploring every bit of sweaty skin within its reach.

His cousin.

T’Challa had no idea how they’d gotten here. Once he had smelled the scent of a fertile omega in the throes of heat, his control had frayed. Instincts he had tightly leashed had snarled and roared inside of him, raw and overwhelming. He had let go, let it overtake him. All he’d known was that there was an omega going into heat in front of him. Everything that made him an alpha had screamed at him to take, to claim, that the omega in front of him was  _his_. At that moment, he would have fought anyone who would have dared interrupt their mating. It would have been a bloodbath. He’s never felt that out of control of his nature before. That he’d be willing to do anything to make this omega his.

He looked down at the omega sleeping peacefully in his arms, ran a gentle hand over a sweat-soaked forehead. N’Jadaka looked fragile in sleep, unguarded and defenseless. T’Challa felt a well of emotion rise up. The need to protect, to soothe, to offer comfort. The whole point of mating was complete compatibility – genetically, emotionally, and physically – in order to breed, to further strengthen the species. It was undeniable that he and N’Jadaka were compatible. Every instinct screamed that this omega was it. At the first touch of their lips, it had felt like Bast herself had blessed him, brought this omega to him - an equal - one he’d been searching for all his life.

It hadn’t even crossed his mind that N'Jadaka was anything but an alpha, not with the way he presented himself. All the omegas he had met from America had been biddable, docile creatures, too terrified to even meet his gaze. T'Challa had been saddened by this, having been surrounded by head-strong, willful, independent omegas all his life. It was barbaric the way most of the outside world treated their omegas, as if they were less due to their secondary gender. But his cousin had been different, all aggression and anger. N'Jadaka was tenacious, had proven that he was more than capable of taking care of himself, of staying true to his convictions. He’d fought T’Challa with such viciousness as if the heat did not affect him. And the alpha in T’Challa was drawn to that strength. N'Jadaka was strong. Would defend their cubs with everything in him. Would die for them.

He growled, buried his face into the omega’s throat. He breathed in deeply, getting lost in the scent of sex, heat, and mate.

His thinking was clouded, his judgment suspect. His cousin was dangerous. Couldn’t be trusted. His cousin had gone to such great lengths to see his ambitions bear fruit. And all he could think was that it just made N'Jadaka a more desirable mate. Because if he could win that loyalty, make this omega his mate, he could harness that ruthlessness to better serve Wakanda and its people. It was his duty as King. It was a burden he hadn’t taken on lightly. His people came first.

He would take care of this omega who had given himself into T’Challa’s care. His cousin was a victim of circumstance. He lashed out because he’s hurt. And T’Challa could see that now. He nuzzled the side of N’Jadaka’s neck, as a few more pieces of the puzzle that was Erik Stevens fell into place. He wanted to show his cousin that there’s another way. He didn’t need to keep hurting like this. T’Challa wouldn’t let him.

T’Challa ran his hand through N'Jadaka’s locs and sweat-soaked forehead, smoothed the back of his hand down the vulnerable line of his neck. That urge to bite, to claim was still simmering under the surface. But he would not force a bond on an omega undergoing heat. Not when the issue of consent was so muddled. The world had taken so much from his cousin, T’Challa wouldn’t add to it by dishonoring him any further. Not after he’d let himself be vulnerable. Given himself into T’Challa’s care. Shackling him to Wakanda through a forced mating would have disastrous consequences, would make N’Jadaka hate T’Challa and Wakanda’s people even more. As he continued to massage the mating gland, N’Jadaka started to shift restlessly in his arms.

He would offer his cousin a compromise. They could deal with the ramifications of his actions after the heat. There would be consequences to this. He had a country to reunite. The dead to mourn. A council to pacify because they’d want this Outsider gone. Dead. The strife he’d cause was no small feat, nor the division.

T’Challa was beginning to realize that undercurrent of civil war had always been there, right beneath the surface. N'Jadaka wouldn’t have been able to convince these War Dogs and the Border Tribe that conquering the outside world was just if the desire wasn’t already there. Wakanda wasn’t without flaws. He had a lot of work to do. But that would be after. They had to get through this first. N'Jadaka was all that mattered right now.

"I will take care of you," he said to the sleeping man. He resigned himself to the fact that they were going to be spending the next hour on the hard, rocky surface of the vibranium mine until his knot went down.

## Part III

Erik wakes with a jolt. He can’t figure out what woke him. His vision blurs as he tries to take in his surroundings.

A tingle starts low in his stomach. Instinctively, he knows what is about to happen, but he’s unprepared. A burning heat unfurls in his abdomen. It curls its way up his spine, spreads out through muscle, tissue, and bone. His entire body is set aflame.

A shaky groan falls from his lips as he clutches at the sheets beneath him. Then the crippling pain sets in, steals the breath from his lungs.

Erik is on fire, the muscles of his abdomen spasming painfully. Gritting his teeth, he clenches his hands into fists. He struggles not to curl in on himself. He inhales painfully through clenched teeth. His gums throb, sending spiking pain throughout his jawbone. His heartbeat pounds violently in his ears, pulsating pain through his head.

His throat is parched as an insatiable thirst overtakes him. He licks at cracked lips.

He aches and everything hurts.

He wants to die.

His limbs are heavy as he shifts restlessly against the sheets. With each inhale, his breathing is too quick, too shallow. His fingers flex against the sheets.

He can’t think. He can’t focus. Something is missing. Something should be here.  _Someone_ should be here.

All he knows is that he wants —

Another spike of pain pulses through him. Slick gushes from his hole. His hands leave the sheets and he splays them across his abdomen, presses against it tightly. Erik turns his face into a nearby pillow, tries to muffle the sound of his scream.

He smells it then; something delicious, enticing, and overwhelming.

Erik whines as he breathes it in. The scent of an alpha. It’s intoxicating, and it disorients him. His addled brain stutters for a few seconds.

He  _knows_  this scent. And he needs it. Needs it to live.

He needs —

“T’Challa,” he moans hoarsely, an undercurrent of need woven through.

_He needs T’Challa_.

His jumbled thoughts start to make sense. He recognizes the symptoms. It's a heat that’s surging through him, forcing his body to produce slick until the sheets beneath him are soaking.

He’s in heat and T’Challa is supposed to be here.

_Where the fuck is he?_ Erik thinks furiously as his cock pulses, aches where it's trapped against the sheets. He cants his hips forward, seeking friction, rutting against the sheets before he knows it, body reacting to thoughts of the alpha.

There’s an ache deep in him and he knows that the only relief he’ll find is when T’Challa touches him, satisfies his body’s screams to be filled.

The fabric beneath Erik rips as his fingers dig in. His rutting does nothing to ease his body’s need. He just wants relief from the building, burning heat spreading throughout his entire body. He would give anything — do anything — to make it go away.

\----

Erik is curled on his side, mindlessly fucking into his hand. Nothing exists outside the burning flame scorching through his veins. He’s a creature of need and desperation. He twists and turns on the sheets, trying to find the release he so desperately wants.

He lets out a frustrated growl, fist tightening on his hard cock as it dribbles pre-come, but no matter how hard he tries, relief just won’t come.

His awareness narrows, all his senses focused on finding relief. The mattress dips, a frigid touch at the nape of his neck jolts him back into self-awareness. It feels so good against his fevered skin. He moans throatily, leans back into it.

“Hush now,” T’Challa soothes, hand massaging Erik’s neck, “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

He focuses on T’Challa's voice. On the cool hand on the back of his neck. His body goes pliant. The need for contact thrums inside his body, writhes underneath his skin, twists viciously in his gut.

T’Challa presses a kiss to the back of his neck as Erik whimpers. “I am here.”

His body quivers as he fights to not submit, to not beg T’Challa to touch him everywhere, but it happens anyway. “Help me,” Erik says hoarsely, turning onto his back.

His nostrils flare as he inhales T’Challa’s already familiar alpha smell, lungs filling with the unique fragrance. Shamefully, his body begins to react to the presence of the alpha and drowns him in another intense wave of sharp, aching heat. It courses through his veins, making his head spin.

T’Challa shushes him, large hands trailing over Erik’s burning skin. The chilling sensation helps to bring Erik back to himself, forces him to focus on something other than the heat consuming him.

“I am sorry I was not here when you woke,” T’Challa says apologetically, hands smoothing a trail of coolness that spreads across Erik’s feverish skin. It permeates deep inside to his very bones. Chilled fingers drift along the curve of his waist, trails over his stomach. He shudders as a shiver wracks through his body when T’Challa’s fingers slide higher. His nipples pebble. His heart races. His chest heaves as T’Challa continues to stroke along his trembling body.

The air thickens with the combined aroma of their arousal. Erik keens, reaching out for T’Challa, pulling him into his overheated body.

He crushes their lips together in a rough kiss. T’Challa gentles it, his lips sliding over Erik’s, swiping his tongue against Erik’s lips. Erik parts them and T’Challa licks his way in, kisses him breathless, until all his thoughts are replaced with the feeling of their lips and tongues intertwining. It makes his head spin, sends his pulse racing.

Kissing is the last thing Erik wants right now, but it distracts him long enough that he forgets how much he needs to be filled. He clings to T’Challa’s shoulders, hungrily kisses him back. It’s sloppy and harsh, fuelled by passion and pheromones. It grounds Erik, gives him something to focus on.

"Oh, fuck,” Erik groans when they separate. Taking in T’Challa’s gold speckled eyes and hungry stare, he glares accusingly and says, “Where the fuck were you?”

“Getting the necessary items you will require for the rest of the duration of your heat,” T’Challa says solemnly as he strokes one of Erik’s thighs.

Erik flinches back from the touch. An unknown emotion surges through him, making him feel raw and vulnerable. So T’Challa’s abandoning him to deal with his heat  _alone_? After he’s  _promised_ to help Erik through it?

The heat is a dull ache now, but Erik can still feel it simmering, ready to take him over again. T’Challa’s presence is the only thing keeping it at bay. He's barely hanging on to coherency as it is. Fists pressed tightly at his side, he asks, “What does that mean?”

“I am giving you a choice, N’Jadaka,” T’Challa states calmly, face unreadable. “When I offered to aid you, you were not in a position to refuse. But you are now.”

Erik knows T'Challa's not unaffected — the golden cast of his eyes gives him away. He’s trying to be noble. What kind of bullshit is that? Erik is way past the point of no return. He wants to get fucked hard and fast. He doesn’t care, he just needs T’Challa inside him, filling him up. And the asshole’s trying to give him a choice. A  _choice_! There is no choice when it comes to this.

What a fucking joke.

Rage fills him and he gets on his knees, hand clenching at the collar of T’Challa’s sherwani. “Did you mean it,” he snarls, “when you promised to help me?”

“Yes,” T’Challa replies somberly, “I meant it.”

“Then keep your fucking promise,” Erik growls.

“If that is what you want,” T’Challa responds, expression serious.

“Yes,” Erik answers, beyond irritated. What the fuck else did he need to say? He needs an alpha to make this heat less painful and T’Challa had offered his services. It’s a no-brainer. Erik isn’t one for needless suffering if it can be avoided. “I want you to fuck me.”

T’Challa leans forward to close the few inches he needs to capture Erik's lips. “Okay, N’Jadaka.”

T'Challa rises to his feet, turns to face Erik. He kicks off his slippers, methodically begins to unbutton his sherwani one button at a time. Erik's mouth goes dry. He's already seen T'Challa naked, but there's something hypnotic about the way he's slowly disrobing. It's the deftness of his fingers, the hunger in his unwavering stare as his eyes bore into Erik's. The last button undone, T'Challa carelessly tosses the overcoat away. In one fluid motion, he pulls the kurta beneath off over his head and stands there in nothing but his trousers, which sit low on his hips.

Erik watches him hungrily. T’Challa is all lean and toned muscle. Erik knows there’s strength in that body, and wants T’Challa to pin him to the bed, cover him from head to toe, his weight pressing down on Erik's heat-wrecked body. T'Challa pulls them off, tosses them in the growing pile of clothes. He slides his boxers down narrow hips, long muscular legs.

Erik can't take his eyes off T'Challa's erect cock as it lies against his stomach. The blunt head is weeping pre-come. He licks his lips, the urge to touch, to taste overwhelming.

“Get over here,” Erik says, holding out a hand. T’Challa takes it, brings it up to his lips, kisses Erik’s knuckles.

Erik’s breath hitches. Something in him aches. Why does T’Challa always pull this shit on him? He isn’t here for gentleness. He just wants to get fucked.

T’Challa tips Erik’s face up, slides his fingers along Erik's jaw and cups the back of his head. He gravely says, "Thank you, N’Jadaka," before he kisses Erik's lips and nose and trails a path down Erik’s neck. He buries his nose against the side, breathes him in, every exhale a brush of heat against Erik’s throat.

“You smell like me,” T’Challa growls, cold hands clasping Erik’s hips, jerking him hard against his chest.

“Fuck,” Erik moans breathlessly, slick leaking out of his hole. The air stinks of alpha arousal and pheromones, and the sweet fragrance of Erik’s slick rises to match it. “You gonna fuck me?” he asks as he scents T’Challa in return, nosing at the juncture where T’Challa’s shoulder met his collarbone. T’Challa rumbles low in his chest as Erik keeps breathing him in, hands gripping T’Challa’s waist.

Erik knows he could get lost in this. Drown in T’Challa’s scent until it is all that mattered.

“I will,” T’Challa answers, stroking one hand down Erik's hip and over his thigh to Erik's cock while the other sinks into his hair. He pulls Erik's head back to stare into his eyes. Erik meets the intensity of his golden gaze steadily. “I promise.”

“T’Challa,” Erik pants as T’Challa wraps his hand around Erik’s cock, rubbing his thumb over the head where it’s wet with pre-come. He moans, arching into the touch. “Just fuck me.”

T’Challa kisses him silent, strokes Erik's balls gently, slides his thumb up and down the vein on the underside of Erik’s cock, tightening his grip on the downstroke. Erik whimpers softly as T’Challa lazily fondles him; his breathing hitches, body tenses, the more T’Challa brings him closer and closer to orgasm.

Erik comes, face pressed against the crook of T’Challa’s neck. It’s too much and not enough. He needs T’Challa inside of him. His body aches to be filled. He’s so wet, he can feel the slick dripping down between his thighs. “Need you,” he mutters into T’Challa’s neck, eyes closing slowly as he just breathes him in, taking in the iciness of his skin, the way his own skin seems to electrify at the feel of his body against him.

“I know,” T’Challa responds, running a hand through Erik’s dreadlocks. “This will help lessen the intensity of your heat. Don’t you feel better?”

“No,” Erik mumbles as he nuzzles and licks at T’Challa’s collarbone. A distant part of him wonders how many omegas T’Challa has helped through their heat for him to know all this. T’Challa seems experienced and a part of Erik hates him for it. This is his first heat in over a decade. The entire experience is overwhelmingly terrifying. He doesn’t know how he would have survived it on his own and it still baffles him that he’d survived that first heat at all, alone with no one to care for him. That pain is nothing compared to what he has experienced thus far.

T’Challa chuckles, urging him to lay down.

“Let us see what I can do about that,” T’Challa says before he drops to his knees between Erik’s spread legs. Palms flat on Erik’s shaking thighs, T’Challa pulls until Erik’s ass is on the edge of the mattress.

Erik pushes himself up on his elbows, takes in the sight of T’Challa kneeling between his thighs. It sets his heart racing, slick rushing out of his body. T’Challa’s fingers drag their way up his ankle, towards his knee, then his thigh. His lips soon follow with a series of nips and open-mouthed kisses against the sensitive skin of Erik’s inner thighs. The sensation of T’Challa's beard rubbing against his skin sends bolts of pleasure through him.

T’Challa spreads Erik’s cheeks apart before delving into his leaking hole with his tongue. Erik’s breath catches on a strangled moan when T’Challa drags his mouth over it. "Oh God," he cries out at that first touch against his rim. T’Challa hums, the vibration sending a shiver racing through his body.

“You taste so good, N’Jadaka,” T’Challa mumbles as his tongue delves in deeper, working open Erik’s tight rim. He clutches at Erik’s hips to stop the squirming, places an open mouth kiss right over his hole. Erik grits his teeth to keep from keening or begging, hips twitching as T’Challa's tongue slips into his body once again. His fingers dig into the fabric under his hand, tries to anchor himself, tries to stay still.

“Shit!” Erik whines, pushing against the alpha’s tongue. He arches his back, cock bouncing with the move. T’Challa's tongue presses inside of him, fighting to get deeper, the tight ring of flesh spasming as he fucks Erik with his tongue. Every brush of teeth and tongue sends too much sensation flying through him and it doesn’t take long until he’s practically a shaking sobbing mess.

T’Challa drags his tongue through the stickiness on Erik’s thighs and higher, like he’s chasing the taste of Erik’s slick. “Delicious,” T’Challa groans, then licks up the underside of Erik’s cock, “Just a little more.”

“Fuck you,” Erik moans, eyes prickling with frustrated tears. “I need—”

His words are cut off with a gasp as T’Challa takes him into his mouth.

He tries to fight off the urge to lose himself in the heat of T’Challa’s mouth, but it’s a losing battle. T’Challa keeps Erik on the edge, has him begging and sobbing as he desperately fucks T’Challa’s mouth. The need to be filled never abates, no matter how deep T’Challa takes him into his mouth.

Erik’s so empty and wet, the burning desire to be filled makes him frantic, makes the heat inside him burn hotter. “‘Challa,” he moans, reaching down to push the alpha’s head away from his oversensitive cock. “Need you in me. Please, T’Challa, I can’t—”

T’Challa pushes a finger into him. Overwhelmed, Erik’s eyes roll back into his head.

“Oh fuck!” he cries out in pleasure as T’Challa’s finger invades his body, pumping slowly in and out. It’s just enough to ease that aching emptiness. T’Challa works two fingers inside him, stretching him open, his mouth returning to Erik’s sensitive cock. Erik undulates his hips, driven by the need to ease that emptiness inside of him, and starts fucking back on them, starts begging T’Challa to give him more.

“Can’t wait for you to split me open on that fat cock,” he murmurs heatedly, the feeling of having something finally inside him making him more vocal. T’Challa’s fingers pressing against his slick walls, teasing his prostate, makes helpless moans and whimpers escape from Erik’s throat. “Gonna ride your dick ‘till I pass out.”

It doesn’t take long for him to come once again, T’Challa’s mouth and fingers working concurrently to send him over the edge.

Erik loses time. When he comes back to himself, it’s to find T’Challa lewdly licking his fingers clean of the slick and come they’re drenched in, the bottom half of his face coated in Erik’s slick. T’Challa looks  _obscene_ and Erik moans, unbelievably turned on. He sits up, greedy hands tugging at T’Challa’s shoulders until the alpha’s lips are within reach for a hungry kiss. He tastes himself on T’Challa’s mouth and chases it, drawing T’Challa’s lower lip between his teeth before seeking entrance with a wet stroke of his tongue along T’Challa’s mouth. T’Challa opens and Erik swipes his tongue between his parted lips. He licks his way into T’Challa’s mouth, explores it slowly, takes in the sweetness of his slick and the tanginess of his come. A moan rises in his throat. Pleasure spills through him, thick and heated.   

Fuck. He wants T’Challa inside of him  _now_.

They break apart. Erik takes in T’Challa’s lust filled stare. “Are you ready?” T’Challa asks as he runs a hand up Erik’s thigh, soothing.

“Yes,” Erik says, swallowing hard, throat raw from begging, crying. He nods rapidly, breath coming in fast and harsh. Arousal twists, builds inside of him. He’s hard and aching again, needs his alpha to fill him up. “Been ready.”

Erik scoots back on the bed, parts his legs, pulls at T’Challa’s shoulders until the alpha is on top of him. T’Challa comes down easy, arms bracketing on either side of his shoulders. Erik hitches his legs up and around his waist.  

T’Challa pushes at one of his shoulders, forcing Erik to let go of his hold on him. He kneels between Erik’s legs, hands pressing down on Erik’s thighs until he’s nearly folded in half, spread wide open. He adjusts his hands on Erik’s knees until he has Erik pinned beneath his grip.  

Erik fights to get his labored breathing under control as he waits for T’Challa to line up, sink into his body. His hips jerk, restless as his head presses back into the sheets, back arching in silent invitation.

Erik’s patience is rewarded when the blunt head of T’Challa’s cock pushes achingly slow against his slick hole. T’Challa takes his time, letting his cock sink in gradually, stretching and filling him, until T’Challa bottoms out, heavy balls pressed flush against his ass. Hands pinned beneath his spread thighs, Erik clutches at the sheets. He’s helpless to the feel of T’Challa’s cock pressing against his slick walls. He is beyond full.

“Oh yeah,” Erik moans, clenching down as T’Challa’s thick cock pushes in farther. "Just like that." T’Challa groans in response, rolls his hips back, snapping them forward in a quick hard thrust that makes Erik’s toes curl.

Erik meets the thrusts, shifting his legs as they pick up a rhythm. “Faster,” he breathes out, “C’mon, fill me up.”

T’Challa leans forward, pins Erik with the weight of his body. They exchange lazy kisses as T’Challa thrusts into him, one hand finding its place by Erik’s head while the other massages his hair. T’Challa buries his face on the side of Erik’s neck, starts rutting harshly up against him. Pleasure pulses inside of Erik with every thrust and he loses himself to the filthy sounds of skin smacking against skin, to the feel of T’Challa’s cock stroking inside him, brushing up against his prostate as T’Challa sinks in deep, to the pleasured moans ringing from his raw throat, to T’Challa’s answering rumbling growls as he steadily fucks Erik into the mattress.

It feels like T’Challa has been fucking into him forever before Erik feels the telltale sign of T’Challa’s knot. The growing knot catches on his rim, pulling a whimper out of Erik.

“Please,” Erik moans gutturally, wrapping his legs tight around T’Challa’s hips. “Knot me,” he breathes out, harsh and desperate. T’Challa kisses him, twining their fingers and pushing their intertwined hands above Erik’s head. He pounds into Erik, thrusts shallow and brutal now, and Erik’s cock, swollen and heavy, lying trapped between them, twitches every time T’Challa shoves inside of him. The friction is too much. Erik arches into T’Challa’s thrusts, overwhelmed by the intensity.

T’Challa ruts into him viciously as his knot starts to fully form. He works his knot inside Erik’s pliant body until it pushes past Erik’s rim, locking them together. Inside of Erik, it swells, impossibly large and perfectly thick. Erik moans lowly, as his orgasm unfurls through him.

T’Challa isn't too far behind. He comes, growling a strangled moan into Erik’s ear, filling Erik up with his come. His hips twitch forward, grinding against Erik’s ass, his cock pulsing as more come empties into Erik’s body.

“Oh shit,” Erik moans, his muscles rhythmically squeezing as his body greedily milks T’Challa’s knot. He doesn’t remember this part from the last time T’Challa had knotted him. T’Challa had managed to fuck him into unconsciousness.

There’s a slight discomfort from the knot stretching him so wide and open. He’s never felt this full, body going pliant under T’Challa. He feels well fucked, no longer in the throes of heat, the need to be filled finally satisfied. T’Challa shifts them to a more comfortable position, reversing their positions so that Erik is sprawled over him, impaled on his cock. “You are a good omega, N’Jadaka,” T’Challa breathes against his parted lips, thumb stroking Erik’s flushed cheek, before licking his way back into Erik’s mouth.

Erik basks in the praise, contentment filling him. He’s floating on pheromones and hormones. “Your come feels so good inside of me,” he murmurs against T’Challa’s mouth.

T’Challa strokes his body, hands gliding over the raised scars on Erik’s back and sides.

Erik drifts in and out of consciousness, lulled by the rise and fall of T’Challa’s chest, his warm, comforting scent all around him.

He can’t remember the last time he’s allowed himself to be this vulnerable, allowed someone to hold him like he's something precious, let alone initiate this level of intimacy with another human being. The way he’s filled, locked together with T’Challa, makes Erik ache. He knows that he’s going to hate himself when he’s back in his right mind, that he’ll lash out at T’Challa for reducing him to this needy creature, for making him long for this weakness. For now, he’ll indulge in this, let T’Challa soothe his body.

Erik’s not sure how long he’s caught on T’Challa’s knot but he feels the gradual deflation as it starts to shrink. T’Challa’s cock slides free of his body, come and slick leaking out of his loose hole, and Erik whines at the feeling of emptiness, his body coming alive as the heat simmering low in his veins makes itself known once again.

T’Challa cups his face, kisses him breathless. His hands drift down Erik’s body, coming to rest on Erik’s hips. “Are you ready, N’Jadaka?”

Fuck. He is so ready.

Erik’s throat catches on a whine as he bites his bottom lip to keep from begging. He nods, hands gripping T’Challa’s shoulders, body producing more slick at the thought of being knotted once again.

Sharp teeth nip at his collarbone as T’Challa’s hard cock grinds against Erik’s ass, the thick head of rubbing against Erik’s slick, puffy hole. “Ride me.”

“Fuck yeah,” Erik groans, rising to his knees. He leans down to grip T’Challa’s cock in his left hand, guiding the blunt head into him. He’s already so open from the previous knotting, his slick and T’Challa’s come providing extra lubrication, and it makes it all that much easier for T’Challa’s cock to slide inside of him.

\----

Erik wakes up slowly. Someone is shaking his arm, speaking to him. “Come on,” he hears a familiar voice say, “wake up.”

His body is weak, mind still kind of fuzzy and eyelids heavy. His whole body feels weighed down. Erik can’t be bothered to open his eyes.

“Go ‘way,” he groans when he feels a hand lightly caress his upper arms, then lightly tap his face.

“N’Jadaka,” the voice answers, sounding amused, “you must wake up.”

He makes the effort of opening his eyes, blinks up at T’Challa. It’s too much. His head swims, his vision blurs. Fuck. That’s a no then.

“You leave me no choice,” T’Challa says before effortlessly lifting him up, cradling Erik’s body up against his naked chest.

Erik can’t make the effort to even form a response.

A large hand strokes through his hair and he lets himself go boneless in T’Challa’s grasp, shuddering at the feel of slick and come leaking out of his ass. His hole clenches around nothing. Erik groans and pants softly into T’Challa’s chest.

“It’s okay,” T’Challa says, arms tightening around him, “you are safe with me.”

Erik nuzzles against him, closes his eyes, focuses on the sound of T’Challa’s heart beating against his ear.

A sudden cool wash of water brings him out of his semi-conscious state. His eyes open sluggishly, taking in the marble and chrome of his surroundings. He knows this place, remembers scoffing derisively at the opulence. He’s inside the king’s bathing room. Still, he has no idea how he got here. His head lolls to the side, supported by a hard chest.

“‘Challa?” Erik mumbles, speech slurring slightly.

“Yes, N’Jadaka?” T’Challa’s hand trails low on Erik’s torso where a light dusting of hair leads downward toward his cock. Erik’s abdomen tenses in anticipation, but T’Challa’s teasing fingers don’t dip lower than his happy trail.

“What’s going on?” he asks in confusion, hips canting forward. He needs T’Challa’s touch. More than anything.

“I am giving us a bath,” T’Challa answers, carefully lathering up one of Erik’s arms.

“Why?” Erik asks, only slightly irritated, arching back into T’Challa. The coldness of the water is an incredible relief for his heated skin.

“Because we need it,” T’Challa says, amusement filling his tone again. A hand squeezes lightly at Erik’s waist, trailing soft touches along his sides before returning to washing him, carefully lathering and rinsing off his heat-warm body. Erik is limp under the ministrations; he hums contentedly at the feeling of T’Challa’s hands roving over his body, feels the tension bleed out of his tired muscles and aching joints.

He drifts against T’Challa until the alpha eventually says, “Up.”

Groggily, Erik drags himself upright, tries his best to follow the order, but his limbs don’t obey. The breath is knocked out of him as his legs collapse underneath him, sending him tumbling back into the tub. Water sloshes all around him, grasping the edge of the tub, he tries to steady his rushed breathing. T’Challa is watching him with a concerned expression, one hand outstretched, reaching for Erik.

Erik smacks it away, snarls, “I’ve got it.”

He doesn’t need T’Challa. He’s not some weak helpless creature, completely reliant on their alpha. This heat has taken so much from him already; he’s not going to give it this. He’s going to get out of this tub under his own volition.

Determination fills him. Eyes narrowed, he tries again. Gritting his teeth, he takes a step forward. His legs tremble under his weight. He takes another step. His body pitches forward and he braces himself for impact.

T’Challa is there to catch him before he hits the water. His arm wraps around Erik’s waist. Erik finds himself leaning into, unable to resist the comfort being offered to him.        

Frustration fills him.  _Can’t even get out of a damn tub by myself_ , he thinks darkly, shame battling the anger rising inside him. He really is a useless omega.

He slumps completely against T’Challa with a whine of frustration. “Can’t,” he grumbles, avoiding T’Challa gaze.

“I’ve got you,” T’Challa says as he presses a palm to Erik’s cheek. The calluses and the coldness of it gives Erik something to focus on, to ground him. T’Challa guides him out of the bath, dries him off before dealing with himself. T’Challa’s hands steady him when he lurches and nearly slips. He wraps him in a silk bathrobe, carries him back to the bedroom.

“Did it help?” T’Challa asks, sitting him on the edge of the bed, coaxing him to stay upright. “The bath?”

Sitting down beside Erik, T’Challa takes Erik’s hand in his, thumb gently sweeping against Erik’s knuckles. Erik leans against him with a sigh, nuzzles at his shoulder. “I’m tired,” he grumbles, voice breaking. The water had felt good on his heated skin, had eased the fever inside him, but now he can’t fight off his body’s need for sleep.

“Sleep now,” T’Challa says, stroking the nape of his neck before placing a kiss on Erik’s brow.

There’s fondness in his voice and Erik is too tired to deal with the implications. He lets T’Challa ease him unto his side, spoon up behind him.

T’Challa’s voice is the last sound he hears before he loses the fight against sleep and drifts off in his arms, body limp and pliant, head lolling to rest against his cool chest.

\----

Erik wakes to the most delicious coolness curled around him. He opens his eyes slowly, blinks lazily, warm and content. He doesn’t remember going to bed, but somehow he’s not surprised to find that the coldness came from the man holding him while he slept.

T’Challa.

He is flesh and blood, chilled with life. Erik is naked, pressed into his chest, his nose filling in with T’Challa’s tangy scent, the coldness of his body keeping Erik’s from overheating. Their legs are a tangled mess of limbs, one heavy thigh and calf curling over and around Erik’s. T’Challa’s breath caresses and tickles the crook of his neck. One of his arms lays underneath Erik’s head, the other draped over him, cradling Erik against him as his hand rests possessively on Erik’s hip.

How long has he lain in the safety of T’Challa’s arms? Why did it feel so natural to curl into him? Erik hates alphas in general, but T’Challa makes it so easy for Erik to let go, let himself be vulnerable.

Erik hates every second of it.

He just knows he doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to wake T’Challa and thus destroy the illusion of safety his arms provide.

Erik’s forgotten how much he’s needed touch, needed attention and affection. It has been so long since he’s last felt safe, that the comfort nearly feels alien to him. He’s starved for it. It couldn’t be more obvious than in the way T’Challa’s touch has him completely enthralled. He’s spent so long forcing himself not to seek out comfort from others. But this, it feels right. He feels right being wrapped up in T’Challa’s arms, his spicy sweet scent surrounding him.

Tentatively, hoping not to wake him, Erik flexes his fingers against T’Challa’s smooth dark skin, feels hard muscle underneath his palm. T’Challa’s heart rate increases, his hand tightening against Erik’s hip. Erik tears his gaze from T’Challa’s chest, finds him looking down at him, those brown eyes drawing him in, holding him captive effortlessly.

Fuck. He’s so screwed. He can’t be catching feelings. It’s the heat, Erik tells himself. Just the hormones and pheromones they’ve been exchanging making him a needy mess.

“N’Jadaka,” T’Challa says huskily, his hand by Erik’s head coming up to massage Erik’s scalp.

Erik sighs as T’Challa brushes their cheeks together, a rumble of contentment building in his chest as T’Challa holds him, pets him.

An answering purr bubbles up in Erik’s chest, makes its way out of his throat.

“How are you feeling, N’Jadaka?” T’Challa asks. The hand running deft fingers through Erik’s hair tightens, tilts Erik’s head up to meet his gaze. Erik leans back into the touch.

“Okay,” he replies, voice raspy. He shifts slightly, then furrows his brow. “Could be better. I think that bath from earlier helped.” Truthfully Erik doesn’t really remember the bath. It’s all one big hazy blur. All he remembers feeling is a sweet sense of contentment.

T’Challa leans forward, lets their foreheads touch. A thumb rubs against his cheek when T’Challa pulls back. “You look rested. Are you hungry?”

“Not really,” Erik answers, stare focused on T’Challa’s lips. They’re plush and full. He wants to bite into them, kiss T’Challa until they’re swollen and spit slick.

T’Challa’s lips curve into a smile. "Now that you are lucid again, let's get some calories and water into you." He pats at Erik’s arm. “I am going to order refreshments.”

“No,” he mumbles into the crook of T’Challa’s neck.

Slowly, T’Challa relaxes his arms. Erik whines in protest as T’Challa detangles the mess of their limbs and slips away from Erik.

Erik groans, turns over on the bed, curling in on himself.

T’Challa runs a hand down his back, says, “When you are ready, come to the dining area.”

Erik hears him shuffling around before he hears the telltale whoosh of the bedroom doors opening.

Once he’s left, Erik sprawls out against the bed, debates following T’Challa’s order. He might have worded it as a request, but Erik saw it for what it was. T’Challa is just so used to being obeyed that Erik wants to spite him by staying in bed. Let T’Challa come to him.

He really isn’t hungry. He knows a lack of appetite is a symptom of the heat racing through his body and that he needs to stay hydrated.

In the end, logic wins. Erik drags himself upright, his body protesting at every motion, but somehow he manages to make it out of bed, ignoring the ache in his stiff and sore muscles, and into something decent.

He leaves the room, makes his way down the suite of rooms that made up the King’s Apartments. He wonders where the Dora Milaje or the King’s Guards are. The halls are empty. The silence makes him antsy. He distinctly remembers how noisy and crowded this hallway had been, scurrying servants, endless chatter that had annoyed him.

Erik stops cold. It finally hits him. He and T’Challa are the only ones occupying these rooms at the moment. Did T’Challa think because he’s in heat Erik is less dangerous? Declawed? He can still feel the strength of the heart-shaped herb running through his veins.

He’s only using T’Challa to relieve his heat. What’s happening between them changes nothing. Their obvious compatibility is a hindrance, an obstacle like anything else, and Erik can overcome it like he had everything else that had gotten in his way. Once the heat is over he would finish what he’d started.   

He passes by several rooms before he finds the small dining room. He hasn’t really had time to explore all the rooms, but he knows they’re one too many. The extravagance discomforts him. He’d grown up with so little when he could have grown up here in the lap of luxury and even now, his anger simmers low.

Erik enters the room, scowl firmly in place. He quickly scans the room, finds T’Challa sitting at the glass and chrome dining table. The kitchen itself is open-plan, all dark granite, shiny black lacquer cabinets, dark gleaming appliances.  

T’Challa smiles warmly as Erik joins him at the table. It sends his pulse racing.

“I know your appetite is currently lacking,” T’Challa says, gesturing to the platters of food currently on the table, “so I ordered a light fare.”

Erik takes it all in. It’s a spread of fruits, nuts, and slices of meat. A part of him hums contently. His chosen alpha is providing, taking care of him. He knows the needs driving them during his heat goes both ways. For T’Challa, it’s a need to provide, to protect. For Erik, it’s a need to be taken care of, to be lavished with affection. As much as he hates to admit it, T’Challa is a good alpha. Erik had made the right choice in choosing him.

He reaches for a slice of nectarine, only to have T’Challa grab his wrist. Erik frowns as he meets T’Challa’s gaze.

T’Challa fidgets under his scrutiny. Swallowing, he says, “I would like to feed you.”

What. The.  Fuck.

Erik stares for a beat, eyes flickering between T’Challa and the platters of food. He raises an eyebrow. “Pretty sure I can feed myself, cuz.”

T’Challa nods, expression serious. Gravely, he says, “I know.”

T’Challa really is a kinky fuck.

Curious, Erik shrugs carelessly, strangely calm given the situation. “It’s whatever.”

T’Challa caresses the pulse point at his wrist. Brows furrowed, he asks, “You don’t mind?”

“Not really,” Erik replies nonchalantly. “You have needs too.”

T’Challa seems floored by his response. The intensity of his stare has Erik shifting with discomfort. T’Challa brings Erik’s hand up to his face, kisses at his pulse point, says, “You truly are a gift, N’Jadaka.”

Heart racing, Erik tugs his hand free. He feels strangely vulnerable, feels slick escape from his body. The smell of it hits the air. T’Challa’s nostrils flare, gold ringing his brown eyes.

"Open your mouth," T’Challa commands, voice low and husky as he picks up a piece of fruit.

Holding T’Challa’s gaze, Erik complies and obediently opens his mouth for a slice of nectarine. He closes his mouth, starts to chew, the tangy yet sweet flavor bursts over his tongue, makes the tip of his tongue tingle.

T’Challa’s hand is at his throat. He runs a fingertip along Erik’s jawline, gently caressing Erik’s bottom lip. "Chew slowly."

Erik nods. Slowing down the chewing, he swallows against the feel of T’Challa’s hand on his throat.

“You’re so good for me,” T’Challa says as Erik opens his mouth when he’s done, letting T’Challa place another piece of fruit on his tongue.

Erik moans low in his throat, basks in the words as contentment fills him.  

It goes like that for a while, T’Challa slowly hand-feeding him random pieces from the plates, intently watching Erik chew and swallow. Erik occasionally catches one of T’Challa’s fingers with lips and tongue.

Erik shouldn’t like it, but the simple act of opening his mouth and eating whatever T’Challa gives him suffuses him with warmth and affection. The shocking truth is he would be content to sit all day like this, letting someone else take the lead.

Fuck. He really needs this heat to end.               

\----

The heat keeps coming back, burning hot and insistent. It still hits him like a sucker punch, unbearable pain settling deep in the hollows of his bones.

Each time, T’Challa is there to ease him through it, alternating between taking Erik hard and fast and subjecting him to long slow fucks that leave Erik a sobbing begging mess. It’s just enough to keep Erik from losing his mind, to keep the fever from overwhelming him. T’Challa continues to feed Erik by hand, eyes at half mast, radiating with satisfaction as he watches Erik. The baths are Erik’s favorite; they leave him boneless, T’Challa’s lingering touches setting his body aflame.   

Once lucidity returns, Erik knows that shame and anger will set in. He’ll regret this moment of vulnerability.

But that’s for later.

## Interlude II

T’Challa greeted the two Royal Guards stationed outside his mother’s suite before checking on N'Jadaka’s vital signs via kimoyo. His stride was long and purposeful as he made his way through the gold and white of her sitting room. He hadn’t spent enough time with either his mother or Shuri since N'Jadaka’s heat started, seeing them only in passing, his attention focused solely on the omega and the handling of state affairs during the lulls in N'Jadaka’s heat.

He found her in the breakfast room. “Mother,” he greeted as she stood up to embrace him. They scented each other, rubbing cheeks together.

“You smell like him,” she said, nose wrinkled once they separated. She took his hands into her and squeezed gently even as her displeasure was obvious.

It was hard for T’Challa not to shift guiltily under the cool judgment in her gaze. Of course, his alpha mother would notice the change, subtle though it may be. She had one of the strongest noses for an alpha not enhanced by the heart-shaped herb. She had been one of his mentors when he’d presented as an alpha. Why had he thought she wouldn’t notice?

For a moment, she merely watched him, eyes assessing his stiffened form. “Sit,” she commanded, gesturing toward the table which was set for attaya.

He sat down, the aroma of mint and green tea filling his senses. He watched in silence as she mixed the tea several times before distributing the concoction into two small glass cups. She offered one to him. He thanked her and tried not to squirm as the silence stretched and became awkward. She continued to ignore him, adding cream into her own cup.

T’Challa bit back a sigh and filled his plate with some salmon pinwheels and crustless finger sandwiches. He took small bites as he waited for her to finally address him. Though he was King, in their pack, her word was law. She would always be his alpha.

She raised the cup to her lips, took a careful sip before she leveled him with a frank look, one she usually reserved for when he’d misbehaved as a child. “Did you claim him?”

T’Challa blinked in surprise, thrown that this was what she’d decided to ask first. “No,” he answered, voice writ with confusion.

It had been a close call. He hadn’t realized how hard it would be to not give in and sink the sharp canines of his teeth into the meat of N'Jadaka’s neck and make the omega his. And N'Jadaka had begged so prettily for it. It had taken everything in T’Challa to resist as he’d run his fangs against the bonding glands on the omega’s neck; the sound of him keening, begging for his bite was nearly all the encouragement T’Challa had needed.

The only thing that had stopped him from giving in had been the thought of how N'Jadaka would react once he was no longer in the throes of heat. When he bonded with N'Jadaka, they would both need to be clear-headed.

T’Challa knew instinctively that N'Jadaka would say yes. In a way, he already had. While the bond formed during heat was temporary, the fact that their scents had changed told him all he needed to know. N'Jadaka would be receptive. N'Jadaka would say  _yes_. The omega in him had already given himself to T’Challa. He just needed to convince the man to do the same. And he would. If the last two weeks had taught T’Challa anything, it would be this: N'Jadaka wanted to be claimed. He knew precisely what the omega needed, and biology was on his side.

“But you want to,” his mother said, drawing him out of his thoughts. “Do I need to remind you of what he’s done? Not only to Wakanda, but to you?”

He didn’t know if it was the frigidity in her tone or the fact that it sounded more like a statement instead of a question, but something in him snapped. A growl rumbled deep in his chest. Teeth bared, he snarled, “Yes. I am very well aware of what he has done.”

She seemed completely unfazed by his show of aggression. “Is that so?” Her gaze was sharp and calculated as she stared him down from across the table. “You are letting your instinct cloud your judgment, my son.”

T’Challa made no rebuttal; he was making these decisions based on the need to protect his future mate, to secure their future. If his mother set her mind to it and decided to object to their mating, it wouldn’t matter how compatible he and N'Jadaka were. If word got out about his sire’s disapproval of his chosen mate or if the circumstances surrounding their mating was ever made public, their mating would always be under scrutiny.  _He_  would be under suspicion of forcing himself on an unconsenting omega. With how tumultuous his reign had started out as, that was the last thing he needed.

“He almost succeeded in killing you,” she whispered, voice cracking. “Do the lives lost mean nothing to you?”

Her words cut him deeply. T’Challa opened his clenched fists, let his face settle into a rigid calmness, and tried to rein in the aggression and rage coursing through him. His mother wasn’t a threat and he needed to get himself under control. “They matter,” he calmly stated, “I know the names of every Border tribesmen, every Jabari, every Dora Milaje both injured and killed. I am handling the situation.”

Her expression didn’t soften as she watched him. “How do you think the other tribes will react to the news of you mating with an outsider? One who purposely set out to cause strife within Wakanda?”

T’Challa huffed in frustration. His mother was only saying what he had been thinking. There would be objections to his mating. The possibility was always there. No matter who he chose to bond with, there would still be contention. He lifted the small cup to his lips, trying not to break it as he took a sip. As always, his mother’s tea was this side of too strong, but as the bittersweet taste hit his taste buds, T’Challa found his thoughts calming and rationality finally returning to him.

Silence hung heavily between them before she asked, “Is he carrying?”

T’Challa nearly choked on a mouthful of tea. He hastily lowered the cup and tried not to flinch under her judgemental gaze.

_If only,_ he thought bitterly.

It was his secret shame. N'Jadaka’s heat was now over and, ruled by his instincts, T’Challa had tried his hardest to impregnate him. He’d always been ambivalent about having children, knowing that he would need to sire heirs at some point, except the only person he’d ever wanted to have them with had thoroughly rebuffed him.

But now, there was N’Jadaka.

As the heat had gone on, T’Challa had found himself unable to shake the image of N'Jadaka, soft and round with pregnancy, out of his head. It had haunted him and the need to make it come to fruition was something he had been unable to let go of. He knew already N'Jadaka would make a great dam to any kits they might have.

T’Challa also knew that it was selfish. That this wasn’t the time for those desires. Surely nothing good would come from such an unplanned event. Some part of him knew it was just his alpha instincts riding him hard; his biology was working against him, whispering that, no matter how heavy the consequences, his need to procreate outweighed them. He ached with the need. In a way, it felt like he had failed at the one thing he was designed to do.

“No,” T’Challa finally answered.

“But you wish it,” his mother pressed.

“Yes.’’ His voice was thick with the obvious longing. He reached for her hand — passed the spread of sandwiches, biscuits, and dried fruits — and gripped it tight. “His strength, his perseverance, his intelligence, they are what I am attracted to. It is not just biology. I have learned much about the man he is under his grief and anger. He is what I want.”

The answer earned him a sigh. “What of Nakia? Do you no longer care for her?”

“I loved her,” he simply stated, “If she had agreed, I would have bonded with her.”

“You say this isn’t about biology,” she stated wearily, “but that is the impression I am getting. You know that you don’t have to bond with the first compatible omega you encounter.”

“I know.”

“You are set on this?” she asked, her grip on his hands tightening, “Once you are bonded, there is no going back.”

“Yes,” he replied, firm and filled with conviction.

“You can do much better than him. I may never grow to like him, but for your sake, I will tolerate him.”

T’Challa hid a wince. This was the closest thing to approval he would get from her, but it would do. Now he just needed to get N’Jakada to agree to bond with him. He had a hunch it would not go as smoothly.

 


End file.
